Things I Love More Than Sammy
by Ai Chiyo
Summary: There was a short list of five things, only five, that he loved more than his brother. It was wrong and strange of him to have an actual list. But here it is. All laid out in neat and fine print by the date he realized it. A reluctant Destiel fic. Set sometime after 7x17 The Born-Again Indentity, but before 7x19 Of Grave Importance.


_**Things I Love More Than Sammy**_

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_A/N: So honestly I've got no idea what I was thinking as I wrote this I just knew it had to be written. You know those times right? Well this was one of them for sure. So here's like a Destiel fic I guess? I like to call it a reluctant Destiel fic because I did not set out with these intentions. I hope you enjoy nonetheless. This is my first Supernatural fic so if you could leave me some comments I'd really appreciate it._

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_Summary: There was a short list of five things, only five, that he loved more than his brother. It was wrong and strange of him to have an actual list. But here it is. All laid out in neat and fine print by the date he realized it. A reluctant Destiel fic. Set sometime after 7x17 The Born-Again Indentity, but before 7x19 Of Grave Importance._

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There were few things Dean loved more than Sam in this world, and no pie and bacon cheeseburgers didn't even make the short list of five things. There were five things that Dean reluctantly loved more than his brother, but it was the last thing that continued to tear him apart night after night. But that's just jumping ahead of ourselves, we really have to start from the beginning, and considering this is a list Dean Winchester made you have to realize it isn't organized perfectly or nicely, it's not by importance, it's by the date he came to love them a little bit, or a lot more than his one and only baby brother.

The first thing Dean loved more than his baby brother, but only just a little, was his Impala. It was a petty thing to love more than your brother. A hunk of metal that guzzled gas and took up almost all of Dean's free time, but it was his and his alone. Sure, he'd given it to Sam the first two times he died. That was expected, he loved his brother and his baby, so naturally he gave it to the only person he thought could take care of it, even if he did seem to install stupid modifications every chance he got. But the Impala, the car he'd convinced his father to get on one of the many ventures back into the past, was always to be his and it would always be his, even when he was dead and gone for good because no one could love her the way he could. No one would rebuild her from the ground up like him, no one cared enough, not even Bobby would have, not that the bastard would outlive them…

The second thing Dean loved more than Sammy, a lot less than the Impala though just enough to make the list, was John's old leather jacket. It smelled of musk, sweat, dust, blood, and faintly of John's old cologne that somehow he always managed to get his hands on, though any sales representative would tell you the stuff went out of production some twenty years before his untimely and unwanted death. It was a sentimental, girly, chick-flick kind of thing he really had to admit. There was no reason to love a jacket more than your brother, but when it was the only thing that reminded you of home, of tomato rice soup and warm smiles and an okay marriage, when it was the only thing tying you back to your father because you had to dump the old aliases and phones and your baby, well it was the only thing you had to hang onto. It was special in a way that Dean failed to realize for the longest time.

The third thing was little and wasn't even really a thing at all… It was a handprint on his left shoulder. It was redemption and forgiveness of an angel in a trench coat with blazing blue eyes and an impossibly deep and gravelly voice. It was the raising of wings and the confusion of being a supposed righteous man with the destiny of stopping the apocalypse, though the feathery asses had clearly failed to mention the part where he'd never stop it, not really, he'd just play the starring role of Michael while Sammy played Lucifer and they all had family reunion in a graveyard. It was the feeling of knowing that his scar, a clear strong hand print, would always be there because at one point he was worth enough to be raised from the depths of hell and forgiven of his sins, that he had a purpose and wasn't just a wandering sack of meat trying to save a planet that seemed hell bent on destroying itself. He supposed late one night drinking himself stupid that it wasn't the scar he loved, not the marring of his body for a noble cause, but the meaning behind it, which was entirely too girly for him to handle and he promptly switched gears watching his cartoon porn and drinking more beer than necessary, especially considering he'd started with whiskey.

The fourth was a trench coat, tan in color marred with blood of innocents, and tinged with black goo. It smelled faintly of a musky river, a municipal water supply actually to be totally correct, and it was special to him. He kept it in his duffel, he grazed the fabric every few days when he felt the need too. He even slept on it once, but he always folded it back. A stupid thing to do honestly. The guy was never coming back, there was no reason to keep a bloodied gooey trench coat, but there was also no reason for him to rub the scar on his arm or keep a jacket from a long dead and rather dead beat father. Everything Dean loved more than Sam was built out of pure sentiment. It was of emotional value, not of monetary or purposeful values. And the trench coat was the best example of how petty and utterly girly Dean's categorization of importance went, as far as love and care. Even the leather jacket was treated roughly, was packed away tightly at one or two points during Dean's ownership of it, but the trench coat was always with Dean. Except for when he went back in time to kick that time god's ass, but that was a different story. The trench coat was with Sam and Jodi and was safe… That was important to Dean up until the point where he found Castiel and returned the stupid, impossibly comforting trench coat back to its rightful owner.

Which leads us up to the last thing on Dean's short list, and the most recent ironically considering the last two things were about the very person Dean loves more than Sam, in a way he could never love Sam because that's just on a level of fucked up and wrong that even the Winchester brothers can't reach. Dean was in love with Castiel, Angel of the Lord and warrior in Anael's garrison, he was completely and totally in love with him and that was impossible and crazy, but true. It took him years to realize. It took him watching Castiel sacrifice any chance of a normal life he could have had for Sam's sanity because Sam was important damn it and he was more useful than Castiel. True in reality, but it wasn't what Dean particularly wanted. Yes, he wanted his brother stable and functioning, but not at the cost of his best friend, not at the cost of the one he was in love with. But Dean shoved that down, locked it away, and drank to keep it there because Winchesters don't stop, they don't pause and they certainly don't hesitate, not when there's a world to save and things to hunt. Not when Leviathan threaten to take over the world and turn it into a personal deli with freshly cut humans on the menu.

So you see, Dean doesn't think much about the last three things on the list, and he misses the first two, but he can't stop or waver. He never can because the moment he does the rug gets pulled out from under him and yet another problem arises. He never gets a break or any slack, and he never stops worrying or trying to take care of his baby brother. But there are moments he wonders that if Castiel hadn't saved Sam from himself that if Sam had surrendered to Lucifer and to the hell his mind created on earth, that maybe he could continue living with Castiel by his side. It would hurt like hell and he would drink himself into numbness, but the thought of a living breathing and functioning Cas, it sounded heavenly. It sounded like something he could get used too, something he could love, surprisingly more than his baby brother.

There are five things on the very short list entitled 'Things I Love More Than Sammy', but the most important is listed last because it was realized a little too late. Love is hard to express to a delusional man who sees only his brother when you look at him, when you speak to him. It's not you, it's not Dean, it's Lucifer because Castiel gave himself for Sam and now he was trapped in all white, locked in a ward with no way out under the supervision of a demon who cared a little too much about keeping this all hush hush. As Dean watched in horror and awe as Cas took on the red veins and hellfire hot torture his brother was going through, he knew and he knew right then that he was hopelessly in love with a clueless angel who just mashed his own potatoes for the sake of friendship and forgiveness, and just… _damnit._ Could he not have a single good thing in his life? Sure, Sammy being back was a great development, something he wanted desperately, but he'd put someone else's life on the line here. He made someone else take his place and that just wasn't right. It wasn't just or fair, but it wasn't his decision to make and that part kills him the most. Castiel felt that there was no other choice than for him to accept his brother's burden, to take it onto him because he was stronger and because he smashed the wall himself. He'd broken Sam and he felt the need to fix it, which was understandable... Dean just wished he had picked a way that didn't involve transfer of a burden because with one burden lifted off of Sam's shoulders another heavier burden was placed upon Dean's. It was the burden of knowing that the man he loves is trapped with the memories of a devil and hellfire, of knowing that he was constantly being watched by a demon which had to be unsettling for an angel, of knowing that there was nothing he could do to fix this or to make it better. There was no plan B, no other option provided, it was just sign on the dotted line for a fixed price because you're fucked. And boy was Dean fucked.

He turned the amulet over and over in his hands warming the small gold pendant that was supposed to glow brightly in the presence of a god that abandoned ship long ago. Originally he'd thrown it in the trash after realizing how utterly useless the damn thing was. He'd disregarded the value of the present his baby brother had given him instead of his father. He'd left it behind and tried to forget about it because he'd lost all faith in a god that he didn't really believe in anyway. Sam had plucked it from the trashcan. He hadn't mentioned anything, not for a long time, but one night when Dean was drinking in whiskey like it was air and was trying to plaster himself ignoring the faint sting behind his eyes and the feeling of the mark on his arm burning Sam had brought it out. He had pressed it into the rough palm of his brother's hand and demanded that he keep it with him. Sam claimed not to give a damn about whether he wore the thing or not, but by God he'd better keep the damn thing with him for Cas' sake. And that was all it took for him to keep the amulet with him. Just the words of his brother who was ten times deeper and wiser than he should be at his age, but he figured it came with the sasquatch sized body.

So he turned the glimmering object in his hands idly thinking of the angel that fluttered away with his heart. He cringed. Definitely needed to lay off the feminine shit for one night. He heaved a sigh and flopped back on the bed. Sam had made himself scarce for some reason. Maybe to go drinking or something, but he'd taken the flask with him, so apparently he noted the need for privacy tonight. No Bobby, no Sam, but most importantly no Cas. He threw an arm over his eyes and willed himself to sleep with thoughts of a flaring trench coat and blazing blue eyes dominating his dreamscape clutching the amulet in his other hand. He hadn't even kicked out of his boots or fully gotten on the bed. There were many nights like this, where he didn't even bother getting comfortable because everything within him stole away any semblance of comfort he managed to carve out for himself in a musty motel room with paper thin walls. So instead he stayed on edge, on alert, and uncomfortable. Somehow it made for peaceful rest and Dean was truly grateful for that. He hadn't rested properly since his thirty-six with Frank. He needed this and Sammy knew that. He loved his little brother he was an over-considerate, entirely too empathetic bitch, but he knew what Dean needed and made him take it, at least most of the time… Dean wouldn't allow the one thing he truly needed because he respected Cas and his wishes and because he loved his little brother almost as much as he love Castiel.

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_A/N: Just one last thing, this was an early fic present for my friend O. She convinced me to put it up on here, so thank you O._


End file.
